Tarifa Point: Rain and storm not only on the southernmost rocks of Europe - delayed start of the hike due to weather conditions

In Memmingen on Monday morning: Ice and snow; in Malaga a few hours later: Rain and storm - but at least still some occasional rays of sunshine for a brief moment in between.

Bus ride to Estepona, where I'm picked up by an old friend of friends... at the bus station. Luckily, as it's raining heavily... and so what was supposed to be a lunch meeting turns into a two-and-a-half-day visit. At the 'Costa del Sol', it's a deluge: It pours and storms almost nonstop; meadows, roads, parking lots, gardens, everything is underwater; paths and roads are covered with torn palm fronds, leaves, oranges, branches... Especially the bright orange oranges look pretty against the gray, wet asphalt.

During a few brief nearly rain-free moments, I explore the old town of Estepona, trying to catch perhaps even a fleeting glimpse of the Rock of Gibraltar - at least once I can make out parts of the rock and take the faint rainbow appearing for seconds against the dark sky as a good sign! After all, the wind isn't as icy as it is back home...

This morning I boldly took the bus to Tarifa (even though I could have stayed a little longer with the two lovely hosts in Estepona, which also appeared dry-inviting, it won't be continuously raining for the next three days...) It's strange to travel in a bus along the 'sunny Mediterranean coast' and see nothing from the windows but white-gray dense fog, hardly any dim shapes of bushes or some houses, trash, guardrails at the roadside; no Gibraltar, no African coast in sight! But isn't it often the case that reality turns out to be different from our expectations?! Had I dreamed of sunny Southern Europe? At any rate, I now find myself in what, as my hosts assure me, is the most incredible rain and storm period they have experienced in Spain for decades...

Nonetheless, I wandered through Tarifa's narrow, white old town streets, could leave my backpack in a small café and hike to Isla de Tarifa. On the narrow dam that connects this offshore rocky island to the mainland, I have to lean against the storm and hold my neck scarf tightly - the seagulls seem to be standing still in the air, they can hardly overcome the fierce wind either. The air is damp with drizzle and spray from the waves. On one side of the dam, the Mediterranean Sea behaves relatively 'calmly', while on the other side the Atlantic's waves crash white and high against the rocks. The gate to the 'island' is closed! For weather reasons, if I understand correctly. A young Asian woman does not accept this either - and while I climb a bit next to the gate from the beach over the former fortress wall, she simply hops over the iron gate (protected mostly by her mask!). We wander through the ruins of warlike times: rusty cannons, crumbling positions, fortifications, and walls. The lighthouse is scaffolded and cordoned off. Only large seagulls inhabit this surreal environment.

And then I stand as far south as one can in Europe, the lenses of my glasses half-blind from the sea spray in the air, shouting towards Africa with the seagulls, which I cannot see, but that I know is there on the horizon. And then the gift occurs: For just a few moments, the sky brightens over Africa, the coast of the other continent appears vaguely, and I can catch a glimpse.

From the rooftop terrace of the hostel, shortly before darkness falls, there were even some magical views of bright, white-glowing buildings over there, on the other shore; glad to have endured the cold storm wind on the roof, I enjoy this sight before the dark curtain is drawn again...